The loom has ceased, yet the threads dance erratically
upon a tapestry untouched by hands, unseen. Shadows
build bridges made of whispers, crossing uncharted
rivers in the mind's forgotten landscapes.
Listen: the clock ticks—no longer for you, nor
against you—a paradox trapped within
its own circular embrace. Lessons of such
depth echo across the unspooled skeins of yore.